


Down On Memory Lane

by Harley_N_Joker



Series: WIP Me Into Shape [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bleeding Effect, M/M, POV First Person, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harley_N_Joker/pseuds/Harley_N_Joker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every writer, may it be some big named fantasy author or just some low-life trying to feel great by writing cheap porn like me, has to have some scripts hidden in the back his of mind and computer. Scripts he or she may have found great as an idea but lacked the enthusiasm and creativity to write down on paper. Or better, finish to write down on paper.<br/>These are mine and yes, I am such an attention whore that I´ll even upload things I´m partially ashamed of. Namely because, after years refining my skills in this complex, foreign language, I realize how badly a few of them are written.</p><p> </p><p>Third time´s the charm: Have some Assassin´s Creed inspired by this beautiful artwork on deviantart:<br/>karaii.deviantart.com/art/AC-Concept-doujin-p-1-6-181343282</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, my first attempt at first person POV. I like it but I kind of suck at it.  
> Also, Bleeding Effect! Yes, the topic everyone´s beeing writing to death now, too, delivered by me.  
> Enjoy your rehash.

Warmth…

That's the first thing I notice when waking up from not enough hours of sleep.

I let my eyes stay closed. It's much more intense to just feel everything around than to keep my eyes open and observe.

May it be the slight breeze drifting through the thick curtains drying the drop of sweat on my brow or the soft skin over toned muscles under my fingers from the body beside me.

His scent…sweet…and musky at the same time…

I inhale it deeply.

It's intoxicating.

I kiss his left shoulder softly. He tries to shoo me away with his arm…

The guilt rising in my chest at that sight tastes like bile.

I will never get rid of it but lying next to him, knowing that he partly forgives me for what I have done, calms me at least a bit.

He moans. A sure sign he's waking up soon.

His skin tastes like the figs he loves to eat.

I hate them. But mixed with the salt of his sweat when I pepper his neck with light kisses…

It's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.

He groans now irritably. Maybe it's because I won't let him go of my embrace.

He tries to loosen my grip.

I just embrace him stronger and nuzzle his left ear.

I don't want to let him go. Here…at this hour, in this bed…I can pretend…

Pretend that we are not who we have to be.

Pretend there are no problems. Or at least no problems they need us to solve for.

I just want to stay here. With him. In bed.

I feel secure with him pressed against me.

I feel not alone in this slowly rotting world with his scent surrounding me.

I feel loved when lets me savor his exquisite taste.

"Get up!" he says.

I don't do anything but hug him even closer.

"Get up already!" he says again. This time more forcefully.

I am confused. Not willing to let him go right now. Not when he's everything I want…

He pushes me. Using his whole strength…I am not prepared for that.

Somehow it feels more like a pull…

I land on the floor, hard.

Strange…I don't remember there was such a big distance between the bed and the floor.

I open my eyes.

Ready to stand up, to glare daggers in his direction and cursing him…him and his stupid morning-after complexions for giving me another couple of bruises I could totally use on my missions today!

However I stop half the way…despite my anger…blinking rapidly.

These are not my bed chambers.

No wooden door on the other side of the room, no bookshelf in the right corner and too many desks at the left side.

Only three people…three strangers staring at me with wide eyes.

I get the urge to turn around. See if Malik has any explanation for this situation.

"Desmond? Are you okay?"

I stop, startled.

This name…it triggers something in my mind.

I look at myself. Not the clothes I usually go to sleep in.

And my hand…my left hand…it is intact?

How?

There should be a finger missing!

How in the world…

"Desmond?" one of the women asks.

I look up at her face.

She studies me with a mixture of concern and worry in her blue eyes.

It hurts to see her like this.

"Desmond?" she asks again.

Yes…that's right…

My name…

It's not…

I am Desmond Miles.

Her hand on my shoulder feels soothing.

"Lucy…"

She seems to be relieved when she hears me calling her by her name.

"Thank god. I thought you were…I don't know. Going crazy like…"

She doesn't finish the sentence. And she doesn't have to. We all know who she's talking about.

"I'm fine, thanks." I tell her.

"Just had a very vivid dream, that's all. Give a few more minutes and I'll be perfect."

I smile at her.

She smiles back and stands up. Walking back to her desk, a bit reassured.

I'm glad I didn't have to lie to her completely. I'm bad at this sort of thing.

Stretching my body, I too stand up. Only to turn around immediately when a sudden urge overcomes me.

There on my bed, feeling heavenly confident of itself, lies a pillow.

Wrinkled and pressed thin in some places where I squeezed it a bit too hard.

A big one, filled with feathers. Large enough to be…

Had I really thought this pillow was a person?

A living…breathing…warm human body?

I disbelievingly shake my head when I look at the mirror in the small bathroom.

On the opposite side of it stands a man in his twenties, dark circles under his eyes from not enough hours of sleep, his usually tan skin lightened in its color.

A picture of misery…

I sigh defeated when he frowns at me for observing him so directly.

I don't look back when I turn off the switch, leaving him in the darkness.

Being all alone in this tiny room with no one else who could certainly understand him and his hardships…his emotions…his actions…his dreams…

Nobody to come by. To turn the light on again, helping him find his way through the shadows. Nobody to give him hope.

What would become of him now?

What would become of me?

Me…

Desmond Miles…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who´s interested: Altaïr is one BAMF and my favorite assassin by far.  
> Just thought I´d tell you.

It's been two days now since that…dream…vision…whatever…

I'm sitting on my bed, eating something indefinable from a plastic cup.

It tastes gross but hey, it's something to keep me from starving. And it's not like I'm the only one who has to eat that crap…

I still receive a few glances from Lucy and Rebecca. Worried glances.

Not a single one from Shaun.

Well, of course not from Shaun, never from him.

He doesn't care about me.

Doesn't care about anything at all. Except guiding the other teams, sticking his British nose into some antique history book and the amount of Earl Grey teabags left in the kitchen cupboard.

It's sad…

When I first met him I thought we could actually be friends or at least good acquaintances.

But no.

Not with Shaun.

Never with Shaun…

Four hours later I'm lying flat on my back.

It hurts like hell and the bystanders who are looking curiously at me aren't helping much at all.

I can hear their whispers. Don't understand them though. Some exotic gibberish…oddly enough it feels familiar after all.

Pictures of sand, palm trees and camels flood my mind. Wouldn't I be in pain right now I'd call them beautiful daydreams.

Better than the ones at night…

Leaving me empty and depressed, like I've lost something very important and can never get it back.

I want to yell at those figures to get the fuck out of the warehouse!

It's embarrassing enough to lie here and know I won't be able to get up for the next few minutes.

Worse when somebody's watching…

Even if they're just…shadows…

Fragments of what used to be in the past.

They seem to fade away when I try to concentrate on their forms.

Strange, faceless ghosts flickering between fantasy and reality…

But whose reality?

Mine…or…

I hear footsteps. Probably heading in my direction.

I groan and rub my eyes with my right hand.

Great, another curious person who wants to bathe in my misery. Just great…

They stop near my feet.

I have to shift a bit to look at whoever's disturbing me in my moment of weakness and self-pity, the snarl for the new waves of pain in my back ready on my tongue.

It doesn't leave my mouth. Instead I feel myself smiling.

"You always seem to find me, brother. Even when you do not know where I am…" I tell him, chuckling.

I expect him to say something snappy with a wide, self-satisfied grin on his face.

He just stares at me though, frozen like a statue clad in blue robes…

"It's because of my little accident, isn't it?" I continue.

He frowns. Seems to be right then.

"Do not look so concerned. I just fell off a couple of crates. Nothing serious…"

With a little effort and a few low, painful grunts I'm standing.

My back still hurts but I'm not showing it.

With Malik I never know if he's going to tease me for showing weakness or if he's gentle enough to just let it be.

He doesn't say anything. Guess he chose the latter, lucky me…

"Are you finished now?" a stern voice asks me.

It comes from his mouth but it's not Malik's voice.

"Are you alright? You don't sound like yourself at all, brother."

I try to smile…I fail miserably.

Perhaps his arm is causing him pain again…

Maybe he's feverish and needs immediate help…

All because of my stupidity!

"Is it because of…"

"Stop it!" he yells at me and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Wait, his arms…both of them?

That's not possible!

He lost it!

Because of me he lost it!

How in the world…

"Why are you staring at me like that, Miles?" he asks angrily.

Miles?

Miles…yeah…right…

Right…

I blink a few times. The image of Malik fades and instead of it there is Shaun.

Don't want to believe it.

I have to rub my face to keep the headache from causing a short circuit in my brain.

This is confusing as hell!

Not normal!

Tiresome!

Horrible!

Intimidating!

Too much!

Cold sweat's running down my body. I'm on my knees, pressing my hands so hard against my eyes they're starting to hurt. Everything around me is a spinning storm of colors, like I'm drunk. Either I'm going to faint or I will throw up.

I feel my plastic cup meal starting to creep up my throat and…

"Desmond!"

Everything goes white.

In the middle of it there's Shaun's face looking at me, eyes wide, his glasses tilted on his nose.

It's almost comical how bewildered this stoic man looks. And somehow it's calming me. My headache fades and my breath slows down to a normal level.

He looks at me expectantly.

I breathe deeply a few times more.

Then I nod and with a little help from him I'm standing again.

"Thanks…" I manage to say to Shaun's retreating back.

He just continues to walk back up the stairs.

Not sparing any encouraging words.

Pretending this whole incident never happened.

Because acknowledging it will lead to telling Lucy about it, this to painful-to-answer-questions from her and finally to more unnerving side-glances from both her and Rebecca.

Not only for me but for Shaun, too.

I feel a smile starting to crawl on my lips.

For once I am happy that Shaun is the way he is.

For once I am delighted he doesn't look at me.

For once I am grateful for being ignored…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m not sure about this one. As I said, I do like it but I suck at first person POV.  
> Maybe a coin toss will help me decide.
> 
> Still, feel free to be inspired as I had been inspired. Just whisper in my ear when you do.

The apple in my hand looks delicious and when I take a bite from it I note to myself to thank Rebecca later for buying actual food.

Right now she's busy doing her own thing in her room, as are the other two.

I yawn contentedly and make myself a little more comfortable on the bed.

Reliving Ezio's memories feels different than with Altair.

Of course.

Two different times, two different places and two different men. The only thing they have in common is being an assassin.

However, this is not what makes it much easier to enjoy myself when being Ezio.

It's the way he acts when faced with an unsolvable problem, the way he's constantly making new allies and friends while being just his usual self and the way he trusts the ones he honors and loves.

I snort and throw the poor, remaining contents of the apple in the near trash bin.

Almost miss it…

Ezio and love. Two incompatible things.

Well, not exactly.

If you only count the physical part, he's a master waiting for his own. I even intend to learn from his way of subconscious flirting and use it.

That is if I ever get the chance of not being stuck in some secret building with a bunch of weirdos trying to fry my brain because an evil organization wants to take over the world or something like that…

Only once have I thought Ezio capable of loving in every meaning. And that was with a girl named Christina at the beginning of my sessions. But after fleeing Florence I haven't met or even thought about her until now.

Partly, because there are always new people to meet. And maybe that's what I like most about it. This constant coming and going of possible acquaintances or friends keeps the guilt from controlling everything I do.

And guilt there is.

I have seen half of my family die. Betrayed by the ones they thought could be trusted.

I've seen my little brother's wide and fearful eyes, barely holding the flow of tears back.

I've heard my father's cries for revenge.

I too have felt the earth under my feet crumble, opening wide and sucking me whole into the black abyss…

I gasp, sitting straight up on the bed.

That's why I hate rainy days. They keep me thinking. Normally this is nothing to worry about. And normally I wouldn't. But these aren't my thoughts. They're Ezio's.

I rub my neck slowly and look out of the window.

Not seeing anything though.

Everything's even worse because I can't control it.

And how could I?

When I'm in the Animus I too can admire Venice's beauty from high above the rooftops.

I too can still remember every woman's perfume he slept with.

And every time he's running from the guards I too feel the sting in my lungs, the wind in my face, the weightlessness when performing a leap of faith, the exhaustion when finally knocking on Leonardo's door.

I am there when Ezio impatiently waits for it to open.

I am there when he is greeted with the most heartwarming smile we've ever seen in our lives.

I am there when he is embraced gently from the person he trusts most in his life.

Hell, I have the right to be confused!

Because it feels so real…

In there I have so much to live for, to fight for.

So many people who are more than worth dying for.

Mother, Claudia, Mario, La Volpe, Antonio, Rosa, Leonardo...

When I'm in the Animus it's not me reliving my ancestor's memories!

It's me being Ezio Auditore da Firenze, last heir of a family of assassins!

And damn it, it feels a thousand times better than being me!

I feel the wetness on my cheeks before I can try to stop it.

I'm crying silent tears…

Fuck!

I'm tired of this whole shit!

Tired of being used as a tool for reaching an almost impossible goal.

Tired of knowing that this feeling of warmth and security is nothing but an illusion created by the memories I have to go through.

Tired of staring at this unnaturally pale reflection of a man who long ago has recognized he can never decide his own fate.

I bash my head against the wall behind me.

Hoping the pain's going to cloud those dark thoughts.

It won't…

And I know that …

However it doesn't stop me from doing it again and again.

Maybe then those pictures will go away.

Happy pictures…happy memories…happy dreams…

Fuck!

I don't want them! I don't need them!

They show me all too well what I am craving for when I wake up.

Love, peace, rest…an almost normal life!

I hate them and yet I still need them to survive this mess.

The tears feel hot on my cheeks.

I just wish for someone to hold me in his or her arms.

To tell me everything's going to be alright.

Someone who's giving me this warm feeling of safety, of being loved…

I sound like a pussy…great…

I stop reducing the last ones of my brain cells.

The rain has stopped. At least one good thing.

The alarm clock near my bed tells me it's almost twelve.

How time flies…

Roughly I wipe the rest of tears from my face. I don't want the others to see them in the morning.

Don't want them to worry even more.

Have to be in good shape. Well, at least a part of me has to…

And as far as I can see my body's still working.

I look out of the window a last time before turning around to sleep.

I still see nothing…

Nothing but a man whose envy and greed will someday cost him his mind.

And sadly I don't care about him.

Because I know he will still function in the morning…like a fine-tuned machine…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware I should continue with "Summer´s Sigh" and after four failed attempts it finally progresses...as slowly as a snail...  
> So don´t you fret! There´s just one more part of this series before I delve back into the depths of werewolves, jealousy, uncle Bobby the therapist and make-up cuddling.


End file.
